


Flashbulb Memory

by EvilMuffins



Category: Dangan Ronpa, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-01 12:23:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11486316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilMuffins/pseuds/EvilMuffins
Summary: Saihara paused with his hand on the doorknob, waiting for Ouma to about-face and head for his own room. That moment never came.---Two boys share a bed.





	Flashbulb Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the NDRv3 xmas in July exchange!

“I suspect you, of course, so that’s why I need to keep an eye an you.”

 

“I’m so distraught over the death of my beloved Amami-chan, that I need comforting.”

 

“I just want to sleep in the same bed as the boy I love."

 

They were all lies, of course, or so Ouma had claimed after each excuse.

Saihara knew that he should have cared more about the real reason Ouma crawled into his bed each night, but things were comfortable this way. It was easier to let him do what he wanted- lies and all- than force him to leave.

Ouma had looked genuinely unwell on the first night he had appeared at Saihara's door, and he could empathize- he hadn’t been sleeping either, despite spending every moment he could bundled up in his bed with the blankets pulled up over his head. In fact, it would be difficult to trust anyone who _could_ sleep, after laying witness to what they had- Amami face-down in a pool of blood, Akamatsu dangling by her neck...

“Hmm. Looks like I got lost in thought and wound up at the wrong room! Oh well.” Came the voice of the smaller boy behind Saihara as he reached his dorm room for the night.

Saihara paused with his hand on the doorknob, waiting for Ouma to about-face and head for his own room. That moment never came.

He had read, once, that vampires were unable to cross a threshold without explicit invitation. Ouma, however, trotted in right after Saihara, flopping down flat on the bed as if it were Saihara who had entered the wrong room. So why, then, did Saihara feel as if this boy were here to suck out whatever remaining life he had left in him?

He might have been able to force him out, seeing as Saihara had a few inches on the other boy, but it seemed like an awful lot of effort, and for what? It wasn’t as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind that Ouma was there to somehow kill him, it was just that he found himself not as particularly bothered by the idea as one might have liked him to be.

Saihara perched on the opposite side of the bed, suddenly too weary to stand, his excursion out into the hall having drained him. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he had left the room in the first place, beyond sleep deprivation taking control of his legs, and forcing him toward the door leading ‘outside’.

During his time as a detective, he had learned that it was surprisingly hard to kill a person. Not morally speaking, or least not for some people, but practically. The human body was hard-wired to keep itself alive, even if the mind malfunctioned and wished for otherwise. In his dazed state, Saihara had likely been trying to get himself something to eat, despite the late hour meaning the closure of the kitchen. Even so, it was harder than one might think to just curl up in bed and waste away.

Unfortunately, he had run into Ouma straight away.

Stealing a wary glance over his shoulder, Saihara had expected to see Ouma childishly kicking his legs in the air, or preparing to hop back up and poke through Saihara’s things, however, he remained lying still like a dead man, complexion just as pale. The circles underneath his closed eyes were nearly the same shade as his hair.

“Hey uh…” Saihara began as his brain, somewhere deep in the back, shouted that it was a bad idea, yet he was still somehow unable to stop himself from asking, “Are you alright?”

Ouma opened one violet eye. “Someone poisoned me. I’m dying from it, Saihara-chan. I least I got to see my beloved one last time…”

The same eye fluttered back shut.

“O-Ouma-kun…?”

As Saihara reached out a hand toward the other boy, two different and very separate thoughts crossed his mind, causing him to instantly hate himself for one which came first: ‘ _Does he mean Amami-kun… or…?’_

“That was a lie.”

Ouma’s eyes flew open, inches away from Saihara’s own as he leaned over him, tentative hand on his shoulder.

That had, of course, been Saihara’s second thought. He silently cursed himself for allowing himself even a second of belief in the boy’s words.

Saihara could feel his face flush as he rolled over to lay on his side, facing away from Ouma as he curled himself into a tight ball. Even getting underneath the covers had suddenly felt like too sisyphean an effort. If Ouma really were here to take his life, Saihara wished that he would just get it over with. He was just so _damn tired._

Even with the lack of blankets, however, Saihara’s back suddenly became very warm. What could only be Ouma’s forearms and shins were pressing into his back and upper thighs.

Saihara wanted to be disgusted at himself for letting something like this happen. He wanted to be afraid, or uncomfortable. He wanted to hate it; he wanted to _want to_ push Ouma off of the bed, hear the satisfying thud as his scrawny form hit the floor.

Instead, he remained as still as an animal about to be hit with a truck.

“Hey, did you know?” Ouma began. There was a forehead nuzzled between Saihara’s shoulder blades now, the surprising heat of it radiating even through Saihara's jacket and shirt. “That a spike in adrenaline will cause the memory of whatever it is that you’re experiencing at the time to become more cemented?”

Saihara vaguely recalled something like that. So Ouma could say something that wasn’t a lie, he thought. Probably only because it was a verifiable fact, rather than something directly related to himself. Whatever the case, Saihara said nothing.

Ouma continued, a slight rasp in his voice that Saihara couldn't recognise as having been there before, “You’ll probably remember this precious moment between us forever, my beloved Saihara-chan. Because you’re afraid…”

Whatever Ouma had been about to say next exploded in his throat as a series of coughs racked through him.

He had come down with something, Saihara realised. That was why he had looked so haggard. Somehow, with Ouma’s seemingly boundless energy, it just hadn’t seemed possible. Just maybe…he really had gotten confused in his current state, only to mistakenly wander toward Saihara’s room?

“You can stay here tonight…if you’re not feeling well, I mean,” Saihara offered, finally.

* * *

 

Saihara blinked up at the ceiling for a few moments, attempting to make out the details of it in the dark. A pang of dread settled back into its now permanent address inside of Saihara's gut. This wasn't his room back in his uncle's house.

Sparing a glance beside of him, Saihara discovered that Ouma was still there. Somehow, he had thought that the events from earlier might have been some sort of sleep-deprived dream. If not, then he had had been certain that Ouma would have left sometime during the night, having grown tried of this newest game.

Rolling over to face him, Saihara squinted to make out Ouma's features in the dark. Last he remembered, the lights had been left on, which meant that someone had turned the switch at some point.

A thought occurred to Saihara then- he had actually _slept,_ and soundly at that. Had he finally let himself become so exhausted that even having Ouma in the room wasn't enough to keep him alert?

A soft snuffling noise from the other boy brought him back to the present. Even in the dim room, they lay close enough that Saihara could see Ouma's hair was sticking to his forehead, matted with sweat, and obscuring his eyes. Reaching out cautiously- half certain that Ouma would pop up and grab his wrist, announcing that he hadn't really been asleep after all- Saihara brushed the hair back away from his still feverish face, Ouma's only reaction a gentle sigh.

He looked almost innocent, Saihara thought to himself. It was difficult to believe that someone with a cute face like that- round cheeks adorning a small, delicate face- could be leader of anything.

Of course, Saihara had thought that once Ouma recovered from his cold, he would go back to staying in his own room. Once again, he had underestimated the other boy's unpredictability. Each night, taking care that no one else saw, Ouma would come into his room, taking over the bed as it it were his own, each time with a fresh excuse- a lie- on his lips.

Yet each night as well, the warmth of having someone curled beside him under the covers soothed Saihara into a dreamless sleep. Although he knew for certain that this couldn't last, he was also certain that he would remember these nights until the day he died.

 

 


End file.
